


can we find a new beginning?

by bellawritess



Series: mashton prompts [5]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Based on an All Time Low Song, Emotional Hurt, Hopeful Ending, M/M, New Old Friends, Post-Break Up, Second Chances, Songfic, ashton left the band :(, band fic but different
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:15:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27708899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellawritess/pseuds/bellawritess
Summary: Michael sees Ashton for the first time in two years at an after-party, of all places.
Relationships: Michael Clifford/Ashton Irwin
Series: mashton prompts [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2026598
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	can we find a new beginning?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rebelwith0utacause](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelwith0utacause/gifts).



> **prompt:** oh, calamity by all time low
> 
> [tumblr link!](https://clumsyclifford.tumblr.com/post/620875853616807936/hoooooow-about-oh-calamity-for-mashton-or-muke)
> 
> title from oh, calamity by all time low
> 
> tw for alcohol

Michael sees Ashton for the first time in two years at an after-party, of all places.

It’s for an awards show, the Grammys, Michael is pretty sure, but he’s not here to be awarded, only to give one out. Michael doesn’t know what compelled the Grammys to ask 5 Seconds of Summer to deliver one of the awards, especially since they haven’t made a new album in three years, but now it’s the after-party and Michael doesn’t care. There’s free booze, and that’s all he needs to know.

He’s just pulling away from a conversation with Taylor Swift, during which she’d complimented his new hair color and offered to set him up on a date in successive breaths, to which Michael had replied thanks, but no thanks, he’s not really looking to date right now, but he’ll keep her in mind if he ever decides to pick it up. Taylor had just smiled at him. 

The party is loud; all parties are, which is why Michael tends to steer clear of them. He probably picked the wrong profession, being this sensitive to loud noise, but whatever. At least onstage he feels he has a purpose; onstage, people cheer for him, and he feels important. Here, he just feels like he could be squashed underfoot and nobody would even realize.

It’s as he’s turning away from Taylor, in search of more alcohol (like that’s what he needs), that he spies a familiar head across the room. Familiar in a gut-wrenching way; familiar but also very much not. Familiar in a way that makes Michael want to throw up.

He pulls out his phone, unsure of what his plan is. Maybe he’ll text Calum and Luke to warn them. Maybe he’ll just call an Uber, pull a dine and dash on this party. He hadn’t known Ashton would be here. He wouldn’t have come if he had.

But before Michael can decide what he’s meant to be doing on his phone, Ashton’s turning around. Michael meets his eyes accidentally, and is somewhat disappointed by the fact that Ashton doesn’t look surprised.

(Okay, so Michael had literally been onstage during the show, but still. He wishes that Ashton would flinch, like Michael is now.)

Then, to Michael’s great dismay, Ashton starts walking towards him. Michael flickers his glance to the person he’d been in conversation with; it’s Halsey — Ashley — and she’s trailing behind him.

Well, fuck. Michael can’t very well ditch with Ashley right there. She’d immediately know something was up, and Michael has done his level best trying to pretend like nothing is up, and like this is fine, and like he doesn’t care that Ashton left the band.

(What the fuck is Ashton even doing here? He’s not supposed to be in the music industry anymore. That was the whole point.)

Michael stays rooted to the spot until Ashton is within arm’s reach. 

“Michael,” Ashton says. “I wondered if you’d be here.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Michael asks, trying not to sound terse.

Ashton looks a little hurt anyway. “Nothing, I just…nothing.”

“Hey, Michael,” Ashley greets him. Michael gives her a cursory nod, which might be rude, but he doesn’t care. His heart is off-tempo, and he’s under imminent threat of having a heart attack, and Ashton’s still standing there, closer than he’s been in two years but still not close enough.

“I’m surprised you’re here,” Michael adds, to Ashton. Ashton inclines his head.

“Yeah, ah, Ashley invited me,” he says. 

Of fucking course she did. Michael wonders if there’s something going on between them. Then he hates himself for wondering. Then, because he’s drunk, he asks, “As a date?”

“As moral support,” Ashley says, arching an eyebrow, which unfortunately does not answer Michael’s question. “My boyfriend couldn’t come.”

Michael wants to shout, _so you chose_ Ashton? Except that _does_ answer his question, subtly, and Michael is pretty sure she knows exactly what she’s doing, so he lets it go. Ashley’s too clever for anyone’s good, and Michael’s really drunk.

“I’m gonna go get another drink,” Ashley says. “Either of you want anything?”

 _Literally all of the alcohol in this room_ , Michael thinks, but they both shake their heads, so Ashley gives them respective nods and then disappears into the throng of people.

Michael looks at Ashton, overwhelmed by the space between them, and waits. After everything Ashton did, he thinks Ashton has earned the _privilege_ of starting any conversation he intends to carry with Michael. 

Ashton does, clearing his throat. “So, uh. What are you up to these days?" 

He doesn’t say _I haven’t seen any new 5SOS music lately_ , but he might as well. 5SOS isn’t officially on hiatus, although they probably should be. That would be better marketing than “Sorry, we just don’t really know how to find our sound again without our drummer doubling as the heart of the band, and we’ve written hundreds of songs but releasing any of them without Ashton would feel like betrayal.” The band hasn’t had that conversation yet, but Michael knows it’s what they’re all thinking. Nobody wants to be the one to say it, least of all Michael. He knows that Calum and Luke look at him differently now, that they know that he’s taking Ashton’s leaving harder than he should be. 

It’s been two years, but standing in front of Ashton it feels like it’s been two weeks, and the bleeding starts anew. Michael’s weak, exposed and vulnerable, prepped and ready for Ashton to sink his claws back into. He hates it. He hates Ashton.

“Nothing much,” is what Michael comes out with. “Just — taking a little break to work on music, and ourselves.” _A break you could have been a part of. A break that might have helped you heal. A break that might’ve meant you wouldn’t leave the fucking band._

Ashton makes a jerky motion that might be a nod. “That sounds nice.”

“It is,” Michael says, although it isn’t. “Uh. What about you? What are you up to?”

God, this sucks. This whole conversation sucks. This party sucks. Michael hates that he’s standing here, three feet from a man who used to be his best friend, or — his _something_ , something meaningful, and they’re playing strangers. No, actually, worse; they _are_ strangers. Michael doesn’t even follow Ashton on Instagram anymore. He can’t bear to.

(Or maybe he doesn’t want to know — if Ashton’s happy or sad, if he’s found his new purpose in life, if he has a new girlfriend or boyfriend or best friend. There’s a very specific brand of hurt that comes from watching someone you loved with your whole heart love someone else.)

Ashton rolls his shoulders, shrugging. "Honestly, a lot of different things. I do a lot of yoga. And I’ve been working on my cooking skills. I’m thinking about — I don’t know.” He presses his lips together and shrugs again, more halfheartedly. “I don’t know.”

“Well,” Michael says. “Sounds like you’re being very productive with all your new free time.”

Ashton’s face tightens, and Michael recognizes the simmering flame in his eyes. “Michael, don’t,” he says. 

“Don’t what?”

“I thought we could be civil. It’s been two years.”

“I’m civil,” Michael says. “I’m not the one who left.”

“It’s not that simple and you fucking know it,” Ashton says angrily. “And I’m not the one who completely cut ties with you.”

“What, like I was supposed to keep in touch and update you on the tour life you’d deliberately left behind? Excuse me for thinking you wouldn’t be too keen on that.”

“You thought I wouldn’t want to stay in touch with my best friends? The people I considered family, really?”

“Good to know you’d leave your family.”

“Jesus, grow up, Michael,” Ashton snaps. “Just admit you were immature about it.”

Michael fumes. “That’s really fucking rich coming from you. You’re the one who cut loose the minute it got serious with us!”

There’s a moment of silence, and Michael regrets saying anything. Ashton stares.

“You’re not the reason I left,” he says, and all of a sudden the fire is gone from his voice. He blinks. “Is that what you really think? Michael, you’re the reason I almost stayed.”

“Almost,” Michael repeats. His chest aches. His heart hurts. “But you _didn’t_ stay.”

“You would have preferred for me to keep pretending to love a job I had begun to hate? To keep touring when it was physically hurting me? To press on and ignore my own mental health? Really?”

Michael stares at him. “No,” he says. “Obviously not.” He _knows_ why Ashton left, and he knows that being angry about it makes him an asshole.

(Sometimes he thinks he’s like a wounded animal, and he keeps lashing out, keeping the injury fresh on purpose. It would be worse, he’s sure, to let it heal, to forget the way he loved so hard, and hurt so bad.)

“We could have talked about it,” Michael says sullenly. “You could have told us something was wrong _before_ you decided to leave. You could have fucking warned us.” 

“Look, Michael, I know I hurt you,” Ashton says. Michael hates him, the way he sounds so sincerely apologetic. “I wish leaving the band didn’t have to mean leaving you.”

“It didn’t,” Michael says. Too late, he realizes it sounds like he’s arguing that they can still fix it, when Michael is pretty sure they can’t, and regardless he doesn’t want Ashton thinking that that’s what Michael’s after. It’s not. It’s _not_.

(Is it?)

“Yes it did,” Ashton says. “But I’m still sorry. For hurting you. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done. I don’t think I can ever fix it, but — I never really got to tell you that I’m sorry. So.” He spreads his arms. “I’m sorry.”

Ashton _can’t_ fix it, Michael wants to say. He wants to say _fuck you, you arrogant bastard_. He wants to go back in time five minutes and call that Uber. There’s fire under his fingertips, but he’s looking at Ashton and he doesn’t know if the fire is fury or desire.

“I’ve missed you,” Ashton adds nervously.

“Don’t tell me that,” Michael says. “Don’t — you can’t miss me. You left.”

Ashton looks so profoundly sad at that. “Okay,” he says. “I won’t tell you.”

Michael wishes he hadn’t spoken at all. Every single part of him is in pain. He thinks he’s going to wake up with sore arm muscles from all the effort he’s putting into keeping his arms by his sides. He wants to believe he’d deck Ashton right there, but it’s just as likely he’d grab Ashton’s hand and never let go.

“This is hard for me,” he admits, curt. “I don’t know what to say. You just apologized, so I can’t very well be an asshole anymore.”

Ashton huffs a nervous laugh. “I know,” he says. “I don’t know either.” He hesitates. “I like your new hair color. It suits you.”

Michael wants to ban Ashton from complimenting him, but he’s just banned Ashton from saying he’s missed him, and if Michael carries on like this Ashton won’t be able to talk before long, and the conversation will end.

( _Isn’t that what you wanted?_ Michael’s subconscious points out.)

“Thanks,” is what Michael says. Then, more idiotically, “I miss you, you know.”

“Miss me, present tense?” Ashton asks.

Michael nods once. “I’ve missed you since you left. I still miss you. I don’t even know you.”

“I thought that was what you wanted,” Ashton says, voice small in the large, loud room.

“It was. But also wasn’t. I don’t fucking know, Ashton.” He throws his hands up, desperate for anyone to try and put his sentences together for him so he doesn’t have to. It’s late and he’s drunk and it’s _Ashton_ and Michael has always been awful at expressing himself. He pulls a hand through his hair. “I just don’t like that I don’t know you. I used to love you and now I don’t know you. It sucks, okay? I don’t expect you to fucking understand.”

“I understand,” Ashton says. Michael stares at him. “Kind of.”

“What do you mean, _kind of_?”

“I love you,” Ashton says, calmly, like he’s not dropping a fucking bombshell at Michael’s feet. “Present tense. And it sucks that I don’t know you. Anymore.”

“You — fuck you.” Michael squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. When he opens them back up, those hazel eyes are still just in front of him, matter-of-fact. “You can’t fucking love me without knowing me.”

“Yeah, you’d think, wouldn’t you.” Ashton gives a mirthless laugh.

Michael opens his mouth to argue. Then he closes it, because he has no argument. For all the shit he talks, he knows too well what Ashton means. He doesn’t really know Ashton, either, and has done a bang-up job pushing down his feelings the last two years, but Ashton’s here now and Michael’s in love with him, strangers though they are. Michael is in love with Ashton now and forever. He never really stopped.

“Well, why don’t you get to know me, then?” he says hesitantly. Ashton blinks. 

“What?”

Michael holds out a hand. “I’m Michael Clifford. I’m in a band called 5 Seconds of Summer. I like playing video games and guitar, in that order. You are?”

Ashton blinks again. Michael might be hallucinating — he’s had a _lot_ to drink tonight — but Ashton’s eyes look glassy, almost…teary. Michael shakes away the thought as Ashton slowly reaches to shake his hand. “I’m Ashton Irwin,” he says. “I used to be in a band, but now I’m a session drummer and I spend a lot of time cooking and cleaning. Nice to meet you. Again.”

“You sound like a nice guy, Ashton,” Michael says. It’s been too long to keep holding Ashton’s hand, but Michael doesn’t want to let go. “I’d like to get to know you better.”

Ashton flexes his fingers and his hand falls out of Michael’s grasp. “I’d like that,” he says. “Do you want to get out of here? I know you don’t like parties.”

Michael finally realizes what Ashton had meant by _I wondered if you’d be here_. He tries to bite back his smile, because he still feels the looming sense of danger, but fails. Ashton disarms him, always has.

“Okay,” he says. “Sure. I think there’s a twenty-four-hour pizza place near here.”

Ashton smiles. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Ashton texts Ashley that he’s leaving while Michael calls an Uber, and then they make their way to the exit, and Michael feels like his head and his heart are in temporary harmony. Maybe he’ll regret this when he’s sober, but probably not. It’s Ashton. It’s _Ashton_. This could be a new beginning, and Michael feels lucky to have even had a first beginning.

Against his better judgement, Michael reaches for Ashton’s hand in the backseat of the Uber, and Ashton just laces their fingers together and doesn’t let go.

(Michael loves him, present tense. And he’s pretty sure Ashton knows. It should scare him, because Ashton’s hurt him once before for being so vulnerable, but he can’t help but fall again and again, every time.)

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading <3 i'm on tumblr [@clumsyclifford](http://clumsyclifford.tumblr.com/) so come say hey!


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